Flawed

I realized recently that Nikolas isn't flawed enough.

He's never been perfect, I never wanted him to be so. Such characters are annoying and very boring. Where's the fun if nothing is wrong? But I've struggled as to how Nikolas should be flawed. A recent post on WoW.com gave some interesting insight, that it might help to blame the character's imperfection on one of the common vices: Sloth, Greed, Vanity/Pride, Lust, Gluttony, Wrath or Envy. All present intriguing options, but at the end, I didn't like any of them. So where am I going with this? Well, I had an idea yesterday, one that has stuck and that I kind of like.

Nikolas is, at the beginning of the story, well on his way to becoming jaded.

His upbringing wasn't exactly idyllic- he and his family were driven by war to another land and he saw little of his father who was in the fighting- but it wasn't really hard either. From his pre-teen days, he spent his time training to be a wilderness scout. He spent his years mostly outdoors, which he enjoyed, and didn't have to face the test of actual fighting until he reached adulthood. Even then, he had the teachings of the Light, passed on by his father, to keep him believing in greater things that transcend pain and suffering.

Where his difficulties begin is when he makes choices based on his convictions, only to find those decisions challenged, ridiculed or criticized by those around him. The difficulty grows when one starts to consider the implications of that choice.

Imagine you're walking along the street when you see a man stumble in the middle of a crosswalk. Oncoming traffic has a green light, and a bus is speeding toward the fallen pedestrian. You do the heroic thing and push him out of the way, saving his life. That's a good thing, correct?

What if the man robs a bank later that day? What if he kills someone during that robbery? What if he goes on a crime spree that leaves death and destruction in its wake?

There could be a host of philosophical discussion concerning the rightness or wrongness of your decision to save the pedestrian (is it the act that makes it good or the result and so on), but think only of this: what would you think if those consequences happened? What would that do to your moral center, your sense of good and bad, right and wrong? Add to that criticism from peers about your decision and the results. Maybe once isn't so big you can't brush it off, but what if it happens several times? What then?

That's what Nikolas is going through at the beginning of the story. He tries to do the right thing, but more than once that has led to less-than-pleasant consequences, even life-threatening ones. So for him, is it worth it to continue trying to be the good guy? What if no one around you wants you to be the good guy?

Those are the thoughts I have right now. What do you think? Feel free to share in the comments section.

Models to Follow

Yes, I know it's been more than four months. But I haven't been slacking off completely. Nikolas is a developing character, and I'm finding it time-consuming to try and hone down my ideas into the story I want to tell. So, that's still in progress.

In the meantime, let me share some Warcraft fan-fiction discoveries that I found truly enjoyable. There are good fan-fics and bad ones, and far too few of the former. But I found a couple that you might enjoy if you like this sort of thing:

Kuma's Song - I'm not sure who wrote this, but it's very well-written. The tauren warrior Kuma is among the first to fight alongside the Horde in the Eastern Kingdoms, but finds the new war is not what it seems. He then discovers that a new path may be calling to him.

It's deep while simple, easy to follow while deep in its message. Worth the small amount of time.


Travels Through Azeroth and Outland - Destron, an Undead mage who can still pass for a living one, makes his way through and around the two worlds, cataloging his journey and finds and meetings.

Entertaining and painstakingly loyal to the world of Warcraft as it is.


Blood and Light - I haven't read a lot of this yet, but it has things that have interested me since I started playing WoW- the Plaguelands, the Scarlet Crusade, Stratholme, etc.


Okay, that's all for now- I'm putting these links in a list on the sidebar and will add as I find new gems. Hopefully some kind of update on my story will be up soon. Thanks for sticking around!

The Will of Darkness, Part I

What parts of Northdale might have looked like before the Legion invaded

"Brothers, tonight everything we've worked toward will be ours. All the promises we've been given will be fulfilled. The glory to which we all aspire is within our grasp, but you must do your duty this night."
James Grekov leaned on the table in front of him, staring intensely at each of the men (and a few women) gathered before him. The Wolf's Tooth Tavern was packed, each person fully dedicated to the same cause as the one next to him. Well, James thought, almost everyone was so dedicated. Standing tall again, he continued his speech.
"There may be some with doubts. Our calling is to bring every soul in this land to our Master, willing or otherwise. Many are your friends, and some are your family. They do not, will not understand what it is we do for them. But you know, as well as I know, that all may partake in the great future promised to us.
"Some will resist, but we must not give in. Some will fight back, but we must not falter. Some in this room may even lose their life this night, but take heart, my friends: such are blessed to be able to taste the glory for which we all strive. Such are the luckier of us, for their fate shall be sealed soon."
James slowly began adding volume and intensity to his voice. "But to those who survive, though we all wish for the sweet taste of death, that we may then taste life, I say this: we must live, so that others may die and be reborn. This is our calling, this is what our Master would have us do!
By now, James was practically shouting, speaking with as much fervor and zeal as he could muster. "Death will come to us all, my friends, but not yet. First, we must do our Master's's will this night, and then we may stand ready for the reward which is promised. Are you ready?"
The walls of the packed tavern shook with cries of support and affirmation. James couldn't help but smile as he saw dozens of men and women just like him, people willing, even desiring to lay down their lives for their Master, though none, not even James, had ever seen him. Oh, James thought, he was real enough. James had felt his power, had felt his embrace when he traded his soul for the promise of immortality. Some others here had similar experiences, but most were going on faith that what was to happen tonight was the right course of action.
Well, James promised each one of them silently, your faith will be rewarded. And soon.
With a final word he dismissed everyone from the tavern, each person knowing his or her assignment. Tonight, James mused, they would spread across the land like the darkness they had come to love, and by sunrise, Northdale and its surrounding farms would be covered in the blood of those not willing to submit to the will of darkness. Yes, blood would flow tonight, and James would drink it in; he would glut himself in a show of devotion to the One whom he served.
As he followed the driven crowds out of the tavern, James failed to notice that not everyone had left. A tall figure clad in dark clothes slipped from the shadows into the kitchen, and outside through the scullery.

Update

I think I've got a good thing going right now- I'm working on a few short stories to sort of flesh out the characters before diving into the big story (the details/plot of which I'm still turning over in my head). I should have part of one of the short stories up soon. I think you'll like it.

I Know, I Know, This is Getting Old

You ever find yourself starting over and over and over again in the creative process, waiting for that perfect line, that perfect beginning, that perfect twist?

Yeah, I'm there.

In my case, it's the beginning and what comes immediately after. So I offer, again, a snippet of a beginning, something that sounds good and hopefully stays sounding good. Let me know what you think.


Ebram strained against the pull of the current, so strong he felt as if his arm itself might tear away. His eyes half-closed because of the struggle, he saw his son Emon disappear beneath the swirling water for the third time, only to come back up a few moments later. Holding to Ebram's hand as tightly as possible, Emon sputtered and tried to cry out, but water kept filling his mouth every time he opened it.
Ebram tried to tell his son to keep his mouth closed, to fight against the current, to try and swim closer to the shore...and yet no sound came from his mouth. It never did. No matter how hard he tried to scream, Ebram could make no noise. He kept trying, of course, because his son, his only son, was close to drowning. But with each passing moment, his silence grew louder and his grip slipped a little more.
Somehow, Ebram knew how this would end. He got the feeling he'd seen this struggle, this battle for life, before, many times before even. Somehow, he knew that soon, some few seconds from now, Emon would slip beneath the raging river again, except this time he would not surface. Maybe it would be water filling his lungs, or maybe he would get caught on some unseen snag beneath the surface, or maybe the undercurrent was strong, too strong. Ebram didn't know, had never known, would never know what it was that shut his son's eyes for the last time.
He felt, in his mind and heart more than physically, his son's hand slip from his own. With a last desperate look, Emon disappeared from his father's view, his eyes giving Ebram a look that would haunt him until time itself ended. Ebram sat there, on the rock that jutted out into the water, panting and sweating, waiting for tears to come.
But they didn't. For some reason, Ebram felt the tears had stopped coming a long time ago. But where did that feeling come from?
From somewhere behind him, a loud noise seemed to shake the ground itself. Ebram turned to look....

Maybe a Prequel?

A farm in the Plaguelands, overrun by the Scourge

With a thud, Nikolas Tien crashed to the floor, helped by the two hulking figures who threw him there. They were shrouded in dark robes, their faces mostly covered. It was so dark in this room that their faces would have been hard to see even without the hoods. The figures moved to the doorway into the cell, taking up position on either side of the entrance. After a few minutes, in which Nikolas continued to lie on the ground in pain, a third person moved from the dimly lit corridor, between the two guards, and into the dark cell. Nikolas didn't have to look up to know who his visitor was.
"Your resilience continues to astound me," the newcomer said, giving off a hint of false admiration. "Men I would have deemed stronger than you didn't last nearly as long before the madness took them."
Nikolas, still in a considerable amount of physical and mental anguish, didn't look up, but continued to lie face-down, blowing small clouds of dust with each breath. He closed his eyes, though in his mind's eye he could clearly see his tormentor's face, punctuated as it often was with a cruel and sadistic smile.
"What, no comments? No curses or insults?" Falt Greyhaft clucked his tongue. "Were you any other man, you could be the most boring person I'd ever worked on here."
'Here,' in this case, meant a small, abandoned garrison south of Hearthglen, tucked back into the mountains separating the Tirisfal Glades from the region now known as the Plaguelands. It had been called such ever since the Scourge infected the land with its evil, poisonous taint. The soldiers stationed at this garrison had fled before the Undead, though the latter had never bothered to claim it. Greyhaft had discovered it some months ago, and began using it as his own personal laboratory, where he could carry out his "experiments" in relative quiet.
Nikolas slowly, painfully pushed himself to his hands and knees, moving to a sitting position against the wall farthest from the cell's entrance. He finally looked up at Greyhaft, his eyes boring into the other man's.
"Sorry to ruin your fun, Falt," Nikolas said with no attempt to hide the loathing in his voice. "Maybe I'll try to smile more as you fill my head with your demons."
Greyhaft crouched down, bringing his face level with Nikolas. "Three weeks you've been here, and yet you still fail to grasp the importance of my work. I will be the first to admit that my methods are less than desirable, but the potential ends more than justify what I do."
"Ah, so it's justifiable to make a deal with devils, all for the sake of the Light." Nikolas' remark was thick with sarcasm and contempt.
"You mock, Nikolas, but that is exactly what I have to do. You've fought the Scourge, you know of their evil. One must sometimes surround himself with such evil if he is to understand it, to fight it more effectively."
Nikolas scoffed. "I know plenty of places you could go to surround yourself in the Scourge's rot and decay. Somewhere like the Writhing Haunt comes to mind."
He barely had time to flinch before the back of Greyhaft's fist caught him full on his cheek. The blow threw Nikolas to the ground; he immediately tasted warm blood in his mouth, which he spat onto the dirt. He had fully expected such a reaction; though his failed attempt to defend the farmlands now known as the Writhing Haunt had taken place months ago, Greyhaft still carried the sting of that defeat. He gave Nikolas a look full of venom.
"You'll regret that remark, you insolent worm." Greyhaft stood and looked down at his prisoner. "You go back on the table first thing tomorrow."
Turning on his heel, Greyhaft left the cell and disappeared around a corner. Behind him, the guards locked the door and took up their usual positions on the other side of the room. Nikolas wiped the remaining blood onto his hand, then laid back down on the straw mat in one corner of the cell. Not for the first time, he thought about the strange fact that he was physically exhausted from the day's torture, though his body had itself been free from actual torment. No, Greyhaft's punishment was far more sinister, attacking the very mind and soul with dark images and shadowy impressions, and it had taken a terrible toll on Nikolas. Every night his exhausted body practically screamed for rest and relief, but the mental torment through which he went every night denied him all but the most broken sleep.
Tonight, Nikolas knew, would be no different. No sooner would he close his eyes than the terrible imaged would return, burning their terrible fear into his mind and shaking him to his very core. He always tried praying to the Light for relief, but with each tormented day he wondered more if it hadn't forsaken this wretched place. As he turned on his side, Nikolas thoughts turned, as they always did, to his family: to his sister, locked safely behind the doors of the Monastery to the north; to his mother, living far to the south, away from the Undead; and finally to his father, now dead almost a year. Nikolas wondered what they would think if they knew his plight. Turning over on his side, he tried to keep his parents and sister in his mind, knowing they'd quickly be replaced by the horror.
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

A New Approach

I'm trying a new approach with the story, where each chapter will start with a glimpe at Nikolas' past as he learns things from his mother and father. These snippets will help explain what makes Nikolas different than your run-of-the-mill spies, rogues and scouts. He isn't, of course, a superhero- he just has some tricks up his sleeves that others don't expect.

Here's my first example of this new approach, found at the beginning of Chapter 1:


"Focus, Nikolas. You've almost got it." Though earnest, Naya Tien's voice was quiet enough to avoid breaking her son's concentration.
Next to her, the boy started to sweat slightly, his face scrunched up in concentration. In front of him, a small pile of sticks stood in a cone, a faint burning smell wafting up into the air. For a second, Naya thought she could see a wisp of smoke rising from the twigs; Nikolas apparently did too, for he gasped in excitement, and in that moment lost his focus. The smoke disappeared.
The boy, barely past his eleventh year, slumped in defeat, and Naya intuitively knew he was about to start crying. She put her arm around his shoulder and pulled him close to her.
"It's alright, son, it's alright," she reassured. "You were very close. Here, feel the sticks. They're quite warm." Naya picked one up and offered it to the boy.
Nikolas took it, and despite a sob seemed to overcome his disappointment. "Almost hot enough to burn someone," he said with a weak smile.
"You see?" Naya turned her son to face her. "You'll have it this time, I just know it." She gave him a kiss on his forehead, and he turned back to the sticks. Half-closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, he started to concentrate on sticks in front of him.
Naya knew her husband wished that Nikolas were more interested in the teachings of the Light. Their son believed in the Light, believed in its power and benevolence. But where his sister desired very much to follow in their father's path, to become a champion of the Light, Nikolas showed no such interest. He had, instead, displayed a greater curiosity toward the abilities Naya had shown from birth, those of a sorceress.
That Altus and Naya had fallen in love and married surprised many, family members and friends and mentors alike. Followers of the Light commonly held wielders of arcane power with little regard, and often contempt. The magi, in turn, held little room for kindness or friendship with the "religious types." Thus it was, when Altus and Naya announced their betrothal to their respective masters, many met the news with disapproval. But the pair never faltered in their love and commitment toward each other, and had so far succeeded in raising a beautiful and happy family.
Despite their seperate interests, Nikolas in magic and the younger Katia in the Light, the two got along well, and for that Naya was grateful. Besides, she knew Nikolas would never show the kind of power in magic she herself had been born with, something that didn't really seem to bother him or her. The fact that he was interested in something she loved was wonderful enough.
A sting in Naya's nostrils broke into her thoughts, and with a spark of delight she realized the sticks before her son were starting to smoke, and in no small measure. She smiled in anticipation, and urged Nikolas on in her mind.
Sure enough, a few seconds later and with a flash, the pile of twigs burst into flame. It wasn't large, but it was strong and hot and bright. Nikolas' face broke into a wild grin as he turned to look at his mother. She returned his grin as he jumped up and yelped in triumph.
"I did it, Mother, I did it!" His voice surely carried across the yard into the house.
"Yes, you did, my boy! I'm so proud of you," she said, hugging her son tight. "I'm so proud of you."
Both turned to look at the small flame again, still burning bright. For a few quiet moments, they basked in the warmth of Nikolas' accomplishment, enjoying this moment. Finally Naya broke the silence.
"You did so well, Nikolas. I know it took time, and it wasn't easy- it will always require some effort." She turned her son to face her again. "It will never be as easy for you to do thse things as it is for me. You understand that, right?"
When he nodded, she continued. "I sense that your life will be much different than either mine or your father's. But you can learn much from us both, things that may help you wherever you go. That's why I teach you this, and that's why your Father has things to teach you as well."
She smiled again. "Now, once you have this down better, I'll show you how to make one that can't be seen." Her eyes twinkled as his grew wide in amazement and anticipation. "Now," Naya said," go and tell you Father what you've done."
As her son ran off to tell Altus about the wonderous thing he'd accomplished, Naya couldn't keep some few tears from coming to her eyes.